


petals

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: Andou Ruruka's perfect, and Izayoi Sonosuke's perfect for her.





	

He's not certain what it is that thieves his rest away. Could be the low thrum of romantic indie from the kitchen's little radio, could be the clatter of steel against stainless. He's not certain what it is that rouses him from his solid six hours, but he's ever grateful to it- his girlfriend's just _breathtaking_ when she doesn't realize she's beneath scrutiny.

The soft peach of her bangs left splayed messy to one side, apron snug around her full figured middle and botched in flour fingerprints. Her eyelashes are lush sans cosmetic; they flutter around interest, directed toward the ceramics of clinking cookware. A pretty pink sheen's the gloss of her nails. She licks a spot of stray batter from the tip of one, utilizing next her hands to stir a pot of simmering compote on the burner diagonal.

Andou Ruruka is absolutely flawless.

Flawless and gorgeous and all the sweetest things- and _smart,_ astute, adept, by the wisps of vapor in her cat's tone. "Don't think I didn't hear you come in, Sonosuke."

Izayoi stiffens in his leant pose to the doorframe. It serves as separation between their bedroom and their kitchen, most favored rooms in their apartment, and everything is theirs, theirs, theirs together. As theirs as the kisses he presses to her neck, now. As theirs as the blankets on the bed and the rings on their fingers.

"Taste, please." He hasn't need to be asked twice, hasn't need to remove the circle of his arms around her waist; the spoon lifts in her delicate, beautiful hand, tips over one shoulder unto his tongue. The sauce is a shock of strawberry saccharine. "Too sweet?"

A lap trails his lip. "Not sweet enough."

And she huffs, in the way that would correspond to a hummingbird sipping pollen (both of which he'd compare her to, her angelic divinity akin to bird's plumage and the dew drops 'tween rose folds) because it's so endearing a witness, one's no other response. And she huffs, and Izayoi is her most favorite little tease. "Nothing's ever sweet enough for you."

Breath billows the tips of her hair, a long slow _h_ _mmm_ in delighted quiet. "You are."

And she rolls her eyes, like one would to the crisp of autumn crawling up from summertime, because, _really_ , Yoi-chan is just _so_ cliché.

Her fingers twist knobs, quell heat, serve to the faux China her latest masterpiece. Against her back, vibrations pin her with chortles, and she says back, "Sounds like someone's hungry."

The hotcakes are as fluffy as the fur she loves so often to don. Scarlet pools around them, drizzles heavensent confiture to soak into the dough. Izayoi would sooner pitch himself a castaway than spurn her confections, sooner still when the sprayed whips of cream garnish the surface. Through the shushing of the canister (from her own collection, of course, as it'd offend her talents to serve anything ready-made), Andou paints a simper to her sea-glass lips. Thick inches of cream peak to a point, though her ceasing of spray coalesces to his puppy-dog pout, turned only opposite when she continues well past generous. Behind that mouth that gives way to all his feelings, she permits a final dollop, and it flavors their next intertwining a sparkling sweetness.

He'd tell her he loves her, but his mouth is too busied by devouring what's set to the table before his seated placement. He'd tell her he loves her, but she already knows it. Actions equate more to eloquence than his words ever could, will, shall. He _does_ tell her he loves her, in the way he's so quick to compliment her and her creations, in the spot of cream on his upper lip that twists her into giggles.

His love is in his kisses, in his touches, in his promises. In his fingers that drop beneath table's edge to lace with those so much smaller, uncalloused and preened. In the glint to his eyes that she swears shine golden, and couldn't stand a single day gone sans the deep gazing into.

Andou Ruruka's perfect, and Izayoi Sonosuke's perfect for her.


End file.
